


Two Sides Of The Same Coin.

by squishlink



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, Fluff and Humor, Heavy Angst, Hero/Adventurer Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Magic?? Sort of??, Medieval AU, Minecraft but it’s real life undertones, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Prophecy, The Wither - Freeform, Very Dream and George centred, War, no beta we die like men, other characters are very minor, somewhat slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishlink/pseuds/squishlink
Summary: Though as soon as he surrendered his consciousness, his blank mind was cut into by splashes of violent oranges and screams. The deep, soul-shaking crumbling of an empire. His birthplace.A thick smoke filled his lungs, red filled his vision.He felt so far from his body, as if he was watching over his own self, yet the vivid feeling the heat of the flames that bit at his skin was as real as ever.His gaze was foggy as he shot up on the spot.Dreams hair was matted with sweat, the muscles of his shoulders and forearms felt tight from being tensed for so long.A trembling hand clutched at his chest, fist clamping down on the now sweat-soaked fabric.He didn’t often have nightmares, that’s what made this so terrifying.Dream could hardly pieve any of it together at the time. His mind raced with one word. One name.George.Muttering out the name made his stomach turn, sending him scrambling into the nearby shrubbery and emptying the contents of his gut.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Two Sides Of The Same Coin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is very much out of my comfort zone in terms of writing, and I’m super anxious to post it, considering I’m sure it’s littered with imperfections. I’m posting this on a whim without any real idea of where the story is going to go lol-  
> Despite that, I hope it’s at least a little enjoyable!

The soil could nurture no seed, cattle perish in the masses, the very buildings made to protect cave in on their residents.

Some say that the misfortune that riddled the castle walls was just a coincidence, to some it was normality.

While the more superstitious say it was themonarchs that doomed their nation. 

The bloodline had been cursed for building on preoccupied land. Tearing down the lands natives and taking it for themselves.

As the kingdom grew divided by the haunting everyday happenings, a prophecy was sewn into life as a beacon of hope and despair for the people to turn to in dark times. A source of solace, of worry in their poor conditions.

Prophets wound tales the inevitable doom that’s spread across the entire realm as they knew it. It would take the form of a three headed beast and spread into the souls of all that reside inside the walls, rotting away at the hearts that dare beat.

The palace, so elegant in its twisted glory, would crumble down at it’s feet. The dust would eventually settle and there would be nothing left but fire, amidst the agony and sorrow in the smog-filled air.

A crown of catastrophe was worn proudly atop the well-kept heads of royalty, but in the eyes of their people was a spark of optimism.

One that could be so easily swallowed up by a cool, howling wind. One that pumped through the nations veins.

Hope in the form of fate and stories of a hero. 

One in which would rescue them all, built up from broken beginnings and dreary nights into a man held in the perches of honour.

Alongside him would be a Prince. One untouched from life’s cruel and unforgiving grasp, pure in nature.

Together they would stand united and undefeated. They would save them all.

_Two men against destiny_. 

Seemed a bit of a stretch, but not to a child.

Dream could recall eagerly clinging onto ever word of the story that fell from the mouth of his neighbour every fall festival. The wild tales made his mind swim with possibility, his imagination driving him up the wall with what could unfold.

It was the one day the wise old woman would come out of her small cottage, she’d sit on a chair just next to the fountain and repeat the same fantastical fable each year. The brightly painted faces of children listened intently to her, pulled aside from the upbeat events of the celebration to hear.

The festival was one of the only events were members from each division could come together as one society. 

The nation was split into sections; the upper class had the pleasure of living closer to the palace, graced by the remarkable architecture and the beauty of man-made nature. 

The less fortunate were forced down to the borders, living cramped against the sturdy stone walls. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to say the distance out between the wealthy and the poor was intentional.

Dream grew up poor, the way his ribs jutted out and he scratchy bedsheets were just normal. 

The boy would spend a huge chunk of his time out in the rich begonia fields just beyond the walls. Life flourished out there, it was such a stark contrast to his everyday.

Children weren’t supposed to leave unaccompanied, it was just common sense.

Though one of the knights had a soft spot for him, he can vaguely remember bribing the man with a flower and a some spare change on the way back for letting him venture out. 

Ever since the story of the hero met his ears it’s all his mind focused on. Dream would act out scenes with his band of other children given a rougher upbringing, roaming around in the shrubbery and treeline just being the walls. They’d smear mud on their cheeks and sneak around, scraping their knees and filling the air with kiddish giggling.

Some nights they’d get carried away and travel too far, darkness masking the day and the knights would have to come collect them. He’d be gripped my the scruff of his dirtied shirt and dragged back. 

None of them truly wanted to, their little world of pretend was far more appealing than the starving nights locked away in a cramped bedroom.

Dream never really outgrew it though.

On warm nights he’d sit himself down on the highest wall overlooking the stretching fields and lose himself in thought. The pink-orange haze of the setting sun easing him into his mind.

His eyes would lazily trace across the deepened outlines of the trees and distant mountains. 

He’d wonder how far he could truly go. What he was truly meant for.

His bright and polite nature eased him through the on and off education his parents could scrape together for him, and before he knew it he was taking his first steps into adulthood.

_ “You’re your own man now, Son. Be easy on your mother with the news.”  _

His fathers gravelly voice informed him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Dream had no intention of staying. He never really did, it wasn’t hard to pick up on.

The barriers were like a prison, but with his citizenship officially confirmed, he could come and go as he pleased. 

After a tearful goodbye with his mother and siblings, he gave a nod of respect to his father. The two had never been close, but in that moment he felt a true appreciation for all he’d done.

The young man snatched up a pre-packed bag and dagger, the two items had been sitting there for months. Taunting him, almost. 

It felt amazing to finally hold them with the intent of departure.

With a final wave to his family, he mounted his trusted horse and left.

The thundering of hooves split the silence as the stallion galloped through the blooming fields of yellow. 

The wind wisped through Dream’s dusty blonde hair, shining emerald eyes looked up toward the sky, buzzing gaze softened by the white heaven-bound birds that were as brilliant rays from wind-dappled sea-water; their brightness amid otherwise infinite blue, gliding as free souls. 

In each wing-given arc they were the tips of a conductor's wand, a music for both eyes and soul, bringing a wave of sweet earthly joy. He pondered over what it’d be like to join them, completely free and content in their glory. 

Spirit was the name he seemed upon his horse. Her muscles rippled from under her freshly groomed pelt and strong legs. They propelled the two forward and kept him going as she powered over the land.

The pair roamed the snowy tops of the distant mountains to the scorching deserts of the south. Even to the pleasant middle ground of the deep forest, for serenity that flows through it is as cool river waters. There is something about the sparkle upon the blue, a melody without a rhythm, music without sound. Above wave the great arms, clothed in the greens of every palate and none, the verdant hues of nature's free dreams. In that place he become a part of that art, of that three dimensional creation of time and space, of a greater evolutionary span than his brain could even fathom.

He loved it. Every single second. The freedom, the rush, zero responsibilities. 

He’d pick up occasional jobs in his travels. Slay this, steal that, collect these things from this seller for me sort of business. in the end he did build a small reputation for himself, as well as some firm muscles on his previously twig-thin arms. It paid reasonably well too, putting his life on the line was just the bonus.

He was an adrenaline junkie, essentially.

It was nice enough for him to to afford a cushy stay in the odd high-end tavern if he really would wish. Usually he’d opt out though.

Nothing beat sleeping out in the wild. The sky watching over him as he slowly drifted off.

All was good. 

Dream felt content.

Until the nightmares started. Hallucinations conjured up from the deepest depths of his conscience.

It had been a long while since he had thought about the prophecy. 

In his travels it was something his brain would kick up when reminiscing about his childhood, nothing more.

It was maybe something he’d bring up in one of his countless tipsy attempts at chatting someone up at a bar, slipping it into a conversation how he still needed the prince to make him complete.

Nine times out of ten he was left with a sore jaw and emptied pockets.

The first vision consumed him around four months ago. 

Dream had settled down as usual. Giving Spirit a gentle pat on the side as he tied her up to a rouge post for the night, ensuring she was settled before taking out his bedroll.

He shook it out, cringing slightly at the dust and bits that flew off of it in return. He took mental note to buy a new one once he made his way into town again.

He exhaled slowly, laying down and turning his head to the starts. 

As soon as he did the man was greeted with a sudden drop in his gut. Distress. Anguish, even.

He tried to shrug it off as a possible side affect of the drinking. Though it wasn’t as if he had done a lot of it today. Maybe it was an old bruise he pressed against accidentally.

He kicked up any excuse to lay his head down, to get the rest he so desperately wanted.

Though as soon as he surrendered his consciousness, his blank mind was cut into by splashes of violent oranges and screams. The deep, soul-shaking crumbling of an empire. His birthplace.

A thick smoke filled his lungs, red filled his vision.

He felt so far from his body, as if he was watching over his own self, yet the vivid feeling the heat of the flames that bit at his skin was as real as ever.

His gaze foggy as he shot up on the spot. 

Dreams hair was matted with sweat, the muscles of his shoulders and forearms felt tight from being tensed for so long.

A trembling hand clutched at his chest, fist clamping down on the now sweat-soaked fabric. 

He didn’t often have nightmares, that’s what made this so terrifying. 

Dream could hardly price any of it together at the time. His mind raced with one word. One name.

_George_.

Muttering out the name made his stomach turn, sending him scrambling into the nearby shrubbery and emptying the contents of his gut.

The name remained firmly in the forefront of his thoughts at any given moment from that night on. As if to tease him.

The visions got worse as time trickled on.

It would slowly extend each time. More and more being revealed to his fatigued eyes.

He’d watch hopelessly as people would be flattened by falling debris. The castle being torn to pieces by the whirring explosions thrown its way by an ungodly beast. 

Dream could never quite get a good look at it, the monster always just too far.

Its skeletal tail would sweep down across upperclassmen’s homes. Ordering them tumbling down the hill that separated the wealths to cause further havoc on its descent.

He’d fought tooth and nail to stay awake, offering smacks to his cheeks that while exhaustion melted into gentle touches.

That was the night he saw his face.

So distinctive in the warm glow of destruction. Sharp yet defined features, powerful and fearful eyes, dark brown hair. 

_ George. _

That’s what he named him, just out of general correlation.

Dream would call out to him until his lungs grew pained.

He was so far away, on one of the walls opposing him. 

The once sturdy brick began to slowly collapsing beneath his weight. 

Dream watched him perish over and over. 

He watched the bittersweet smile spread across the mans expression as it played out before him. 

Over time he began to notice the tears, George’s arm reaching out in a weak attempt for him.

There was no escape, at night his mind would be flooded with the fire and slaughter. And when his drained conscience would push into the light of the day the remnants of his nightmares would trickle down his spine. It served as a heavy block of led in his stomach, a constant reminder of what awaited him in the looming darkness.

And that near enough brings us today, it was late summer. Only weeks ago the air was warm and the streets in the wide avenue were deep summer green, the whispering rustle of the leaves only audible once the daytime crowds petered to an almost stop. Now they are tinged with red and gold; not yet deserting their lofty branches in the gusts that penetrate the fabric of his thick green jacket. 

He had returned home for the first time in years. Peering up at the now vine-invested walls brought upon a warm feeling of nostalgia, slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth at the thought of seeing how it’d all changed.

Dream had made an active effort to keep in contact with his family, not letting his travels out an emotional distance between them. He would send letters, little relics and portions of sweets for his siblings and as much money as he could afford to.

Every time he’d think back to the cramped little cottage they all had lived in, his heart strings were practically snapped. 

They were far more deserving of the spare money anyway, despite how much his mother would protest in her written replies.

Dream already found himself longing for the first warm rays of the spring, wishing the fall and winter could hurry on into becoming a faded memory.

He much preferred the heat summer brought along, the way the air would buzz as he laid his head down to rest at night.

It was sad how deeply he longed for rest.

Pulling his coat impossibly tighter around his lean frame, he nodded approvingly to the knight at the forefront of the gates. The same man, now wrinkled with age, who had allowed his antics as a child. He was given an untrustworthy once over at first, before Dream remembered the mask he adorned.

It was a circular cracked ceramic mask with a crudely carved in smile on its front, the eyes were cut through so he could see out of it. The once fresh edges had been chipped at, time and experience taking its toll on eve the most carefully crafted of items.

With it on he was unrecognisable. Paired with the black face covering he wore even the holes in it provided no help as to who exactly he was.

The only thing that could slightly hint as to his identity was the dirty blond tufts of hair that curled out from his thick hood.

His gloved hands reached up to unbuckle to mask and shift it over to rest over the side of his head. Dream slipped two fingers down the face covering and tugged it down.

“Long time no see, Sir Phil.”

Dream offered a half-hearted smile, turning to rummage through his side-bag for his citizenship documents to provide him entry.

“And who’s fault is that?”

The blond chimed in return, waving a hand to signal the man to stop his search. There was no ill-intent in his words, the affectionate grin he wore said it all.

Dream straightened up again, glancing towards his feet, then to his horse, back to Phil’s face in the seconds of silence that passed.

This one-sided awkwardness was unbearable. Dream almost felt guilty.

“They’ve all missed you, mate. Hurry along now.”

He swallowed down the ill feeling, finding himself chuckling lowly at the friendliness of the Knight’s nature. Dreams fingers slipped the black fabric back over his nose, thanking the man quickly.

He and his stallion finally rode through the large mahogany gates.

The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. 

The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were the blood. The sound of the smiths, beating swords and breastplates into shape, was the consistent and dull pounding that let you know the town was alive.

A familiar smell filled his nostrils, fresh rain, smoke and the slightest hint of bread.

Every building was different, borrowing this and that from another era. While there had definite been huge changes, he still knew the area far better than the tired facts his brain had be forcefully filled with as a boy.

He didn’t bother readjusting the mask, keeping it fixed at the side of his head as he slowly trotted along, drinking up the area.

“Clay!”

The broken voice of a woman broke his recollection, causing him to jump and snap his gaze to see what’s caused it. He hadn’t even fully absorbed the fact it was his name that’d been shouted until the image of his crying mother was before him.

Her face was red and tears streamed down her face, arms extended out to him.

They’d exchanged letters back and forth about his return for the festival, how she was so emotional over his presence was something he could understand, but then again he wasn’t the one absent of a son for months and months on end.

The initial shock wore off and he dismounted Spirit, pulling his mask off properly before engulfing his frail mother in a hug.

“I-I can’t believe you’re finally home, Clay! Oh, I—we’ve all missed you dearly.”

She cried into his coat, gripping at him as if he were to disappear the instant she relaxed. She seemed so tiny in his arms, had he grown that much or had everything else just gotten smaller?

In that moment his arms squeezed a fraction tighter and Dream breathed slower, his body melting into his mother’s as every muscle lost it’s tension to the chilly air. 

_ This was real. _

In that moment it all crashed down on his drooped shoulders. 

The sleepless nights, fresh and aged scars alike, the grief he carried on his back for a man his mind crafted up to torture him.

In loving arms he hasn’t felt the embrace of on months he allowed a few silent tears to fall from his eyes. 

It almost hurt to do so, feeling his chest tighten and nose scrunch up as the two rocked another back and forth.

“I’ve missed you all too.”

He muttered, dropping the mask to the ground.

—

With a heavy arm wrapped around ikr another’s shoulders, the two men slinked along into town. There was brightly-coloured traditional face paint smeared across both of their faces by now, the pair having stopped at a small paint booth just beside his home.

It was quite a walk up into the centre, as it was located more towards the upper-classes sector. It was the one time a year people like him were allowed to go up there without proper reason. 

Nick had been waiting for him back at his childhood home once Dream had finally let go of his mother, which he was later to find out was a common occurrence.

In his absence he took his place, so to say, sitting at his chair at the dinner table every now and then, filling the silence. In all honestly he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, biting his tongue on making any comments other than a surprised nod.

What he was certain of was how much they had to catch up on. They’d been the best of friends as children, both infatuated with the prospect of exploring beyond the gates and into the world.

The boys would ditch school together, spend their days discussing their plans for the future, promising to leave together.

Clearly, that didn’t end up happening.

A few weeks before Dream turned 18, before he left, Sapnap’s mother fell dangerously ill. It wasn’t uncommon for anyone to do so in the kingdom, but for the elderly any sign of sickness lead to the same outcome indefinitely.

Dream knew he was being selfish, trying to convince his friend to come along despite the obvious factor holding him back. The two argued frequently, though it was never usually genuine, usually over some lost bet or teasing.

Though that night stood off in true defiance of one another, tensions high and testosterone impossibly higher. There were a few punches and the blond left there with a bloodied nose and the true intent never to speak to him again.

Looking back on it he cringed, how he allowed himself to be so self-absorbed was so far from how he’d like to be perceived. Even further, how he allowed himself to be so mindless of his /best friends/ terrible situation.

It was such a stark comparison to the two now. After being apart for so long it was as if it never even happened to begin with. The men kept close together as they bantered loudly through the streets, their lively moods fitting in perfectly with the banners and noise that filled the place the closer they neared the town centre.

It was cold out; that was for sure.

Dream could see his breath as he exhaled, and he was fairly certain that, judging by the slight numbness to his face, his cheeks and nose were reddening by the second. There were children laughing and screaming as they ran around and enjoyed themselves, — some climbed up on hay bales, while others played by the playground — and there was a healthy chatter from the surrounding adults, many of whom were holding cups themselves, whether with wine, cider, beer, coffee, or maybe even hot chocolate, judging by the occasion. 

The festival was just like he remembered.

There was pumpkin carving and decorating, apple bobbing, pie eating competitions, hay rides and, for the older attendees, there was coffee and alcohol to indulge in. Speaking of, that’s exactly where his friend had ventured off too.

In that moment, while Dream looked on, though…—It was as though everyone was silent, and moving slowly, while he took everything in; everything that made this autumn. The chilled air and his visible exhales, the leaves falling and crunching beneath people's feet, the smell of freshly baked apple and pumpkin pies… It all filled him with a sense of warmth and safety, almost overwhelmingly slow.

He drew in a long, deep breath and shut his eyes as he did so, exhaling slowly. 

He was utterly calm and relaxed out here — not that anyone could tell if he was feeling otherwise anyhow.

This was something he truly enjoyed about life; possessing the ability to slow down, take everything in, and breathe. Something so simple as a fall festival — something that had happened every year and was nothing new to him— was still so beautiful, given the chance to stop and take in one's surroundings.

Though Dream couldn’t suppress the growing feeling of dread that clung to his chest. The beauty of the place in his eyes was temporary, it all had an expiration date. 

It was hard to take it all in knowing what he saw in his nightmares, how all of this area was nothing more than dust and flames once the beast was released out into the world. He could see the palace so clearly from here, the very thing that collapsed first.

His throat grew unbearably tight.

It was Sapnap’s hand waving in front of his face along with a hand on his shoulder that brought the man out of his thoughts. The younger tilted his head back slightly to glance at his friend, and he offered him a small, gentle smile.

“Are you okay?” 

Nick asked, his voice poorly masking slight concern, hold briefly tightening on his shoulder, before the same hand moved across Dream’s back and to his other shoulder so that he could pull him in snugly against his side. Even though Dream was considerably taller than him, Sapnap managed.

“Are you really _that_ cold? I thought you were some big tough adventurer now, yet you look like you’re gonna cry because of the weather.”

He was, truthfully, was just /slightly/ freezing his ass off. But, that was part of the fun of all this; part of life. Seeing and feeling the seasons change, welcoming the cold in the autumn and winter like you'd welcome the warmth in the spring and summer. It was a reminder that the world kept turning.

Life would continue on. Hopefully.

“I thought _you_ were getting us drinks to stay warm, idiot.”

Dream shot back, grin tugging at his features.

“I was-!” 

Sapnap whined, huffing through his nose.

“But the line was too long, and I thought this-“ 

He made a quick gesture between them, 

“-Would make the perfect substitute until people stop swarming the bar. Besides, I looked over and you were…Staring off into space. You looked weirder than usual, so I came back.” 

Dream found himself chuckling into his palm, his warm breath sending a jolt through his forearm. 

It was laughable how much Sapnap frequently tried to mask his care with insults, on top of that how long it took him to excuse said thoughts, the cogs of his brain visibly turning through his stubborn expression.

He truly had missed him.

“What were you thinking about?”

Dreams laughing fell short as he took a moment to think about it.

How could he answer that question without giving Sap his entire philosophy and entire thought process along with it? He ultimately decided that it was no use, and he shook his head. 

“Nothing crazy.” He stated. “I was just enjoying the moment.”

“Right, _okay_ , weirdo.”

Dream found himself laughing again, the joy from him was infectious as he shoved him, even causing the man beside him to crack a smile as he stumbled back on the leaves.

It had been so long since he’d felt so elated, even as his head was pulled down and held tightly between Sapnap’s inner arm and the mans side. A rough set of knuckles were ground into the top of his head, messing up his hair as he thrashed to be let go of.

The two laughed louder than any other group there, their shared childishness amplified in one another’s presence.

The two only stopped the roughhousing and obnoxious laughing when the music kicked up. Their eyes drifted to the main stage, where a group were standing. Lute, tambourine, bagpipe and flute alike sung out into the open air, sufficiently capturing the attention of all that stood around.

They played for minutes on end, talented fingers and mouths working the instruments with a practises precision that was nothing but admirable.

The song lulled the excitement from his bones, bringing him back down to realise how many judgemental eyes had been on them previously. They were lower class, surrounded by upperclassmen and nobles the like, acting like children in their presence. It was a poor stereotype that they filled into, already being looked down on.

Dream really couldn’t bring himself to care though, he’d be gone again in a couple days and those people would be but a distant memory.

The music came to a disjointed and premature end as a flustered bard clambered to the forefront of the stage, clammy hands reach forward to lector. The man attenuated to pull together some act of decency despite the clear panic that resurfaced along his features every few seconds.

“My apologies, it seems we fell slightly behind schedule!”

His tone was riddled with nervousness, his naturally nasally voice only amplified by it. The bard kept glancing around, specifically up to the palace behind him, in one of the lower balconies a thick curtain could be seen moving.

“It is my honour to announce Their Royal Highnesses,”

Trumpets and flutes sounded out from the castle, singing the familiar tune played upon any royalties appearance. Surely had to get annoying after a while, Dream thought, letting his eyes properly pull up to where the bard had been skittishly looking too.

“The King, Queen and Prince of our great Empire!”

The mans voice found confidence as he came to the end of his introduction, though he was quick to scuttle off of the stage as the trumpets came to a close and three figures emerged from the red curtain.

This is the first time in years they’d ever shown their faces at an event like this, usually remaining cooped up in their palace. The royals always tried to keep their distance from their own people, it was as if their existence alone came as an issue to them. So it was under stable the gasps and mumbles that rung out amidst the huge crowds. People were at their windows at that point, everyone trying to snatch any glance at them they could.

The King and Queen kept chins tilted high above everyone, their stances one of nobility and honour even in a festival meant to unite them all. Their faces had aged considerably since the last time he’d seen them, Dream noted, even from his distance the lines of stress carved into their skin was obvious.

Their once deep brown hair was graced by a smooth grey amidst the strands.

“I cant believe they’re allowing the Prince to be here! We haven’t seen him since he was but a child.”

A girls whispering wasn’t as discreet as he was sure she would’ve hoped, because he heard all of it. Taking a look up at the podium there certainly was a younger man at their side, though he was hidden behind his parents. All that Dream could properly see was pale, ring-adorning fingers beyond the expensive dress of The Queen.

“My people! It is beyond brilliant to see thou faces once again. It is such a beautiful Kingdom we have here.”

The King’s voice boomed over the crowd, hooking everyone in to follow his words. 

Though Dream couldn’t seem to pay attention. He was completely disregarding every line of praise that fell from the Noble’s mouth. His emerald eyes were almost fixated on the figure hidden behind the Queen. 

Dream could feel his hands begin to tremble at his sides, mouth becoming dry of saliva. 

His head began to spin as the King gestured behind him, for the Prince to step up and talk.

Dream’s eyes shot open.

He was alive. The man stood there, talking, breathing. There was no fire, no screams.

It felt so unnatural, he had seen him countless times reaching out for him with blood splattered across his pale face.

It all came crashing down like a ton of bricks, his breathing becoming unstable as he stumbled back into the crowd behind him. They cursed at him, wiping at their clothes to ensure no dirt was transferred onto them. As if he was some sort of disease.

Dream’s hearing cut out almost entirely at this point, before he could at least make oi the fuzzy shapes of most words but now all he was met with was a sharp ringing.

He felt as if he was choking on air itself. Grief, confusion and every little emotion he’d bottled up was released through his system all in one go.

This naturally caught the attention of Sapnap, who called out for him, but it met deaf ears.

There were hands on his upper body, but he felt so far from reality at that point.

His vision blinked in and out until he was tripping over his own feet again, hand extending out as if to try and reach the figure up on the podium.

“George!”

Was he the one yelling? 

He assumed so, watching as the crowds around him turned to stare, along with the eyes of the Royal Family.

The Kind and Queen seemed to make an effort to keep their gaze forward, but as their son snapped his head so quickly they soon followed. It was as if he had reason to do so, like he recognised the tone.

The shock that plastered itself onto the Prince’s face was delectable, eyelid twitching as he struggled to get a closer look at the man calling for him. When George made an attempt to lean over his mother’s hand pulled him back, despite the clear worry and reflected realisation that now riddled the boys expression upon seeing him.

Dreams breathing faltered, the nausea spread up from his abdomen, to his chest, to his head. Utterly engulfing his mind in shadows and the sudden urge to switch off.

For just a world-tipping moment, they made eye contact.

Both his eyelids and body felt tremendously heavy, pulling him down. Sapnap made an effort to catch him as he fell back on his his heels, but he was a lot heavier than he looked.

His thoughts were churning faster than he could make sense of them. It wasn’t long before his vision flickered off into to a pleasant, inky black. 

Clay was out cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought in the comments, thank you so much :)  
> My brand new twitter is @Squishlink! Give it a follow for updates if you want


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